


Unskilled & Unaware

by reserve



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi
Genre: Anal Sex, Crack Treated Seriously, Humor and Feels, Hux is as Self-Aware as a Rock, Identity Porn, M/M, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Ren is Doing His Best Kinda, Slow Burn, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 13:22:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13788627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reserve/pseuds/reserve
Summary: The new Supreme Leader tries therapy.





	Unskilled & Unaware

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my dear Hicstreme, who celebrated a birthday this month. You are a true talent, a good friend, and one of the strongest people I've ever met. This is for you. 
> 
> BOUNDLESS GRATITUDE to my betas [clutchhedonist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClutchHedonist), [imochan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/imochan), and [eralkfang](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eralkfang). Thank you for your time and hard work. And heartfelt thanks to [callmelyss](http://archiveofourown.org/users/callmelyss), who looked at this and confirmed it was actually enjoyable.

_The skills you need to produce a right answer_  
_are exactly the skills you need to recognize what a right answer is._

-David Dunning and Justin Kruger, on the [Duning-Kruger Effect](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dunning%E2%80%93Kruger_effect).

 

General Hux was looking forward to an afternoon pick-me-up of rehydrated noodles and very strong tea, when a deferential voice said, “Sir, a word?”

 _How typical_ , Hux thought, and he’d been _this_ close to escaping into his private office, datapad in hand and freedom on the horizon. He sighed before turning to see who had spoken, a definitive _“_ no _”_ perched on the tip of his tongue, and was surprised to find Captain Els Baxter, the _Finalizer’s_ chief psychology officer, standing at parade rest behind him. Hux hadn’t seen her since he’d shifted his main quarters to _Starkiller_ during the final stages of construction, and her appearance was not an altogether unwelcome turn. Even if he did find her profession to be nearly as superfluous as—as the _Supreme Leader’s_ mystical rubbish.

“Ah,” said Hux. His mouth quirked up in what could almost be called a smile. “Captain Baxter, how unexpected.”

“Please, sir. It’s Counselor today, I’m afraid. I’m here in my official capacity.”

Oh. That was rarely a good sign. When Baxter sought him out in her official capacity, it usually meant someone was in dire need of extensive reconditioning. “ _Counselor_ Baxter, then. Would you care to step inside?” He keyed in his door code.

Baxter gave him a curt nod and followed. She sat, straight-backed and solemn, when he offered her permission to do so. Hux hung up his greatcoat on the rack beside the door before installing himself behind his desk.

“I trust you’re well?”

“As ever,” said Baxter, a bit wryly. “But I _am_ here about wellness.”

Hux gestured for her to continue.

“The wellness of our troops, sir.”

“Have there been rumblings of _unwellness_ among the troops?”

Hux looked at her down his nose, daring her to suggest there was anything amiss in the ranks. There was one recent, glaring change, but Hux suspected that the only person truly affected by Ren’s ascension was him. And maybe anyone in a relationship with a now deceased Praetorian guard. Such a pity, all of that marvelous combat training laid waste by some sand-anointed Force brat.

“Well?”

“Not explicitly,” said Baxter. “But given recent events, I believe taking steps to _prevent_ any potential unwellness may be wise.” Hux could tell she was choosing her words carefully. “Some individuals find counseling to be helpful in times of change or… upheaval. And as I’m sure you know, sir, many of our ranks lost comrades and loved ones on _Starkiller_ and the _Supremacy_.”

Hux sniffed.

“It’s a best practice,” she went on, then made eye contact with Hux in a way that felt both attentive and pointed. Very clever, she knew he loved that sort of thing. “With your permission we can easily arrange group and individual counseling sessions for those seeking an appropriate outlet.”

He also loved when things were _appropriate_ , but was unconvinced. “I can see how officers might benefit, but Stormtroopers can simply put themselves through reconditioning.”

Baxter cleared her throat. “After the traitor, we re-assessed our methods, and—”

“Alright, enough,” Hux cut her off. He had seen the recorded footage from the command shuttle’s exterior surveillance devices. FN-2187 had watched a fellow stormtrooper die and it had _moved_ him. Hux wasn’t familiar with the reaction. “I concede your point. You may proceed, but if your little endeavor becomes more of a hindrance than a help, you will certainly bear the brunt of the responsibility.”

“Of course.” Baxter tipped her shiny blonde head. “An announcement will need to be made. With your leave, I can produce a brief for all personnel. Shall I send it to you for approval?”

“Yes, thank you. You are dismissed.”

“Sir.” She stood and saluted before turning to leave.

“And Baxter,” Hux added. “Do keep it cut and dry. This isn’t the time for undue _emotionality_.”

Baxter stopped on her way out the door and looked back to offer him another sharp salute. Hux watched her go. She had an enviable tidiness about her. Despite her designation as a therapist, she did not seem given to whimsy or flights of fancy. As far as Hux was aware, and according to her file, she was an exemplary specialist, with very specific training. He had long mistrusted anything involving the psychiatric unless its value was in subjugation and reconnaissance, but he supposed a balanced mind was as important as a balanced diet. He, of course, was the picture of stability.

Others in the line of command, perhaps one in particular at the very top, were not.

The more Hux thought on it, the more he realized that he wasn’t overly troubled by the notion of group counseling for the hardworking men and women of the Order. They would need to decide if officers would be separated from enlisted men, but otherwise the whole affair seemed relatively straight forward. He wouldn’t need to run it by Kylo Ren, either. All matters pertaining solely to personnel remained thankfully within his personal purview. That alone made Baxter’s pet project more appealing. With this at the forefront of his mind, Hux went about the rest of his daily business feeling distinctly pleased.

A missive from Baxter arrived later that cycle, by which point Hux had consumed his noodles and several cups of tea. He took a sip of his fourth as he clicked on the message.

_To: General Hux_

_Below you will find the prospective announcement. As with all standard medical bulletins, once you have signed off, we will add this information to the cycle newsletter, as well as the F.O. internal holonet site. Timetables and sign-up forms will also be made available. Please make changes at will; I yield to your superior judgment._

_Regards,_

_E. Baxter_

Hux smiled to himself before continuing; she truly was an ideal subordinate.

 _By now, all among us are aware of the destruction of_ Starkiller Base _and the attack on the Star Dreadnaught_ Supremacy _. In our struggle to understand such meaningless loss, we must remember that the origin of our suffering lies with our loathsome foe, the Republic. Although some star systems have yet to take up the mantle of our glorious cause, be certain that you and your fallen brethren are among the loyal and the righteous. Now, it is of utmost importance that we begin the process of returning to a normal, orderly life. This may be a difficult task for some, we understand._

 _To help personnel deal with any unresolved emotions that may arise in the coming weeks, special counselors have been made available aboard the_ Finalizer _. If you require the assistance of a counselor, either alone or in a group, speak with your commanding officer or visit medical bay. Additional information and a timetable of group sessions has been added to firstorder.web/finalizer for the access of all staff._

_The health of the Order, both in mind and body, is our first priority. We urge you to seek care if you need it._

_Thank you._

Baxter’s missive rambled on some about logistics after the draft itself, but Hux was satisfied with the overall message. “We understand” may have been stretching it, but he hadn’t been as coddled as some of the men and women aboard his Star Destroyer. These were, after all, the same people who enjoyed things like Sweethearts’ Balls and Life Day parties. It couldn’t be helped. Baxter was as much of a stickler for protocol as he was; surely she knew what language was best for this kind of thing.

One omission from Baxter’s announcement _did_ stand out: there was no mention of Snoke’s passing. Hux had sent a cursory notice to all command posts when Kylo Ren assumed the role of Supreme Leader, but there had been no fanfare. Nor had there been any kind of official mourning for Snoke. Ren himself had been relatively scarce of late, locked away in his old chambers after the disaster on Crait and largely out of Hux’s hair. Thank the stars for small mercies.

It did feel… odd, though. He was so accustomed to having Ren around, an ever-present shadow and heady source of irritation. It was distinctly strange not to be haunted by one Force user or another. Strange not to have parts of his ship on fire. Strange, even, not to be on the receiving end of some form of pain in somewhat regular intervals. Snoke had never been gentle with him, nor had his father, and he had suspected Ren would employ much the same mitigating tactics. He’d also expected Ren to go immediately tearing after the girl and the last scraps of her pitiful rebellion.

Predictably unpredictable, Ren had done neither.

There had been two terse conversations. Ren was a barely contained ball of raging hurt during the first, refusing to make eye contact, spitting out his every word as though he could make them stick to Hux’s face through his sheer determination to be obeyed. _He_ was Supreme Leader and _he_ was in charge and Hux would do as he said and that was final. Hux agreed, of course. He was accustomed to biding his time, just as he was accustomed to pain.

The second conversation was stranger.

“I’m entrusting daily operations to you, General,” Ren said. They were in his chambers; Ren looked sallow and vaguely unwell. He hadn’t moved into Snoke’s stateroom onboard and by this point it seemed unlikely that he would.

Hux blinked. “I’m honored, Supreme Leader.”

“Don’t be.” Ren rolled his eyes. “Snoke trusted you, so I—trust you too, with this. I have private matters to attend to and I don’t want any distractions.” He said distractions like Hux was one. “I’ll summon you if I require your presence.”

“Understood.”

“We’re done here.” Ren waved him away and Hux gladly took his leave.

He was not displeased, merely surprised by the aboutface. He knew he was better suited to the minutia of administration than Ren could ever hope to be, he simply hadn’t expected Ren to realize that, or if he did, to give a kark. Hux had settled gracefully back into the comforts of command, and with each passing day he grew more certain that he was, at the very least, safe until Ren noticed his presence again. It was the most peace he’d had in years and he used it to direct the salvage of the _Supremacy_ , prepare for their next offensive move against the remaining Republic strongholds, and attempt to discover where, exactly, Snoke’s immense wealth was contained. He suspected he might need Ren for that one in the end, but their coffers were far from empty. He had time. Time enough to revisit some of his back-burnered weapons R&D, and time enough to let something as trivial as _therapy_ occur on his ship.

Would wonders never cease?

 

When Captain Baxter requested a meeting to discuss the first sessions, Hux was relatively eager to hear her progress. He received her in his private office once again; after all, discretion and professionalism were the marks of a truly great organization. 

“Report?” Hux gestured for her to sit. He had decided to take slightly more than a passing interest in her project since they’d last spoken. And once he’d seen the announcement in his inbox for several cycles he couldn’t help but wonder who, exactly, would choose to make themselves so vulnerable, and in front of their peers no less.

“We have designated a suite on C level and are prepared to begin the sessions,” Baxter began. “In the end we decided to keep officers and enlisted together as an equalizing tactic. Everyone experiences hurt, that sort of thing.”

“How quaint,” Hux smiled without his teeth. “And how many people have… enrolled?”

“Three-hundred and eight. Each group has no more than 15 participants and we’ve scheduled four sessions per ‘work day,’ so to speak.”

Hux nodded. “Very good. The first of which is today?”

“Yes, sir. At 1300. Suite 25A81.”

“I’d like to observe, see the process.” He had enough sense to know that Baxter would likely deny him. But it was by his leave and his alone that she was even permitted to lead these little groups.

“Sir, it could inhibit—”

“I expected you might say as much, but this is my ship. Find a way to make it work so that no one is _inhibited_.”

“Of course, sir.” Baxter didn’t miss a beat. “I shall comm you once we’ve made arrangements.”

“See you at 1300, Counselor.”

Baxter saluted with a determined look that Hux found very satisfying. He suspected she would prepare some kind of two-way mirror situation, and when she commed him with the suggestion to arrive slightly before 1300 he assumed that he was correct.

He was. A portion at the back of 25A81 had been quadroned off and a mirrored wall had been installed; there was a discreet little door as well. All of their larger conference suites were drab affairs in grey and black. This particular room was no different from countless others: the same speckled, noise-canceling ceiling panels, the rows of neat utilitarian chairs, the wall of picture windows overlooking the stars, and of course, a podium at the front of the room flanked by two red First Order banners that stretched from floor to ceiling.

“The acquisition request is forthcoming,” Baxter said, coming to meet him. She sounded apologetic. “But time was of the essence.”

“I’m impressed,” Hux replied. “Truly.” The efficiency of his subordinates was remarkable at times. He followed Baxter into the observation room when she held the door open for him.

“Please, take a seat, sir. I’d like to introduce you to the counselor who will be leading the session.”

“Won’t it be you?”

“I’ll be present for at least this first week. But I think my particular talents are better suited to the individual requests, and there have been more than a few.” She paused, her expression gone rather flinty. “And sir, this could be an opportunity to, shall we say, sniff out some of our weaker links. We’ve already developed control and confine protocol.”

“Ah, yes.” Hux nodded. He appreciated this particular brand of nuance very much indeed. He also appreciated the comfortable desk chair that had been provided for him in the darkened room, and settled in while Baxter went to fetch the aforementioned counselor. She returned several moments later with another trim, young officer Hux didn’t recognize.

“This is Sergeant Merve Kallis, sir. I think you’ll find she’s quite clever.”

“Sir,” said Kallis. She saluted and remained at attention.

“At ease, Sergeant. I trust you’re well prepared for the task at hand?”

“Yes, sir.” Kallis had a serious, resolute manner to her. Hux wasn’t sure he could imagine her counseling emotionally fragile soldiers, but perhaps that was the point. She actually reminded him a little bit of Rae Sloane, were he to be entirely honest. “We’ve been running practice drills with the counseling team for the past few weeks. I am confident we will be able to make a difference, sir.”

“Do you feel a difference should be made?”

“What the Sergeant means is that she believes this exercise will be a successful one,” Baxter cut in.

“I see,” said Hux. “Let us hope so.”

Baxter gave Kaliss a firm look. “The group should arrive shortly. Wait for ten minutes then begin. Stragglers will simply have to forgo introductions. Dismissed.”

Kaliss departed with another salute.

“She’s my protegé,” Baxter said. “She’s just nervous. And maybe a little overzealous. The young ones always are.”

“You’re quite young yourself,” Hux observed, lifting one eyebrow. He wasn’t sure if he meant it as an insult.

“I’m 35, sir.” Baxter raised her own eyebrow. She _did_ have spunk. “I should head in now. If I may be so bold, I’d ask that you stay for the entire session. It would be beneficial to keep your presence unknown.”

“I look forward to seeing your work come to fruition, Captain. To think: helping people instead of forcing them to talk. How times have changed with our _new regime_.”

If Baxter had an opinion on the topic of Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, she didn’t offer it and her eyes gave nothing away. Hux couldn’t say the same for himself. He’d never been capable of keeping his opinion on Kylo-kriffing-Ren close to the chest.

Individuals began to filter into the room while Hux distracted himself with his datapad. There was electronic mail to be dealt with and a few budget requests he had to sign personally. Forty thousand credits to oversee the transfer of the uniform production facility aboard the Supremacy, and that was just the estimate. Perhaps he would need to secure funds through additional avenues sooner than he’d imagined.

When he looked back up, a small circle of chairs had been set up and filled by various soldiers in off-duty clothing. They made for an uninteresting group in black and grey, but that was the point. The Order didn’t value individuality. The Order didn’t value emotion. Hux liked to think that he exemplified these values. He had, as a younger man, even considered dying his hair a darker shade. He didn’t appreciate putting people in mind of his father when they met him, but once he’d climbed the ranks he discovered that standing out wasn’t such a bad thing. People remembered him, and his hair was certainly part of that. People, he found, also desired him. He was somehow exotic to them; though he couldn’t fathom why. It was just hair. He hadn’t taken advantage of that particular reaction to his appearance in a very, very long time. All of his dalliances were with his right hand, and sometimes his left as well if he were feeling particularly intrepid. Or _needy_ , his mind supplied. Hux shook himself.

It was exactly 1310 when Sergeant Kaliss introduced herself and began the session. All the chairs were full but one. And where was the fifteenth unlucky soul who who had decided to take advantage of this potential farce? Hux found his gaze lingering on the door, too curious to pay much attention to the group itself.

“You should feel safe and comfortable expressing yourself,” Kaliss was saying. “I realize this is somewhat antithetical to your training and our custom, but you have all chosen to come here for a reason and you shouldn’t hesitate to be open and honest with yourself and your comrades. You do not need to address one another by rank, and Stormtroopers are welcome to use their nicknames in place of their designations, should they choose to. Please remember: this is your space. I trust you will treat one another with respect and not share private information with those not present. Let us begin by introducing ourselves. My name is Sergeant Merve Kaliss, and I am your counselor.”

She _was_ good. Hux could see that now.

One by one they said their names and ranks, glancing around with mildly nauseous expressions. A Stormtrooper called Stix looked fairly ready to bolt once he realized he was seated next to a Lieutenant.

They were finishing up when the door slid open with a wild clang as though it had been flung out of place. Then a veritable whirlwind of orange and grey clattered into the room, upending at least three empty chairs in its wake.

“Oh, we’re not wearing uniforms?” said the man. He had messy blonde hair and stupid, large glasses.

Hux blinked.

“Hello,” Kaliss said pleasantly. “Have a seat.”

“Why didn’t the confirmation say something about no uniforms? This is stupid.” Their late arrival plucked angrily at his orange vest with one very large hand. “ _Shit_ ,” he said with feeling.

“Please.” Kaliss nodded at the empty chair. “You’ve made it just in time. Coming directly from your shift is admirable.”

“I’m not—yeah, okay. Thanks.” The man huffed and threw himself into the open chair like an overlarge child. He stretched his legs out in an obscene fashion. He took up so much bloody _space_. “I’m Matt,” he said. “I’m a radar technician.” Then he glowered at all assembled as though he were daring them to challenge him on this, and Hux blinked a few more times. He’d know that sullen, mulish look anywhere. It haunted his waking hours and sometimes his sleeping ones.

Kylo Ren. Kylo- _kriffing_ -Ren.

It couldn’t be, and yet it was. And no one knew but him. Was it the Force? Or had he simply worn a bucket over his head for so long that the average person didn’t fucking know who he was? Hux leaned in a little bit closer to the window, maybe strained his hearing just a bit. Things had certainly taken a turn for the fascinating.

“Welcome, Matt. Let’s get started. Today I thought we might focus on surface emotions. How we’re each feeling right now. Would anyone like to share?”

“I’ll go,” said Matt. He said it like he was doing everyone a favor and also like he couldn’t help himself.

Hux licked his lips. Sith hells, this was _fantastic_.

Kaliss gave “Matt” an encouraging half-smile.

“I’m. Uh. Worried about Kylo Ren,” Matt said, accompanied by more glowering. Several of the other participants shifted uncomfortably. A TIE pilot named Harlan was suddenly very interested in his trousers. “He tries so hard. Everyone disappoints him. He only wants.” Matt swallowed what could best be described as a growl. “What’s best. For all of us.”

Someone coughed. Hux was going to lose his mind.

“I see,” said Kaliss. “And what about you, Matt? What do _you_ want?”

“I don’t. Want. To talk about me. I want to talk about Kylo Ren.”

“Perhaps we should use his appropriate title?”

“No.” Matt paused. “I mean yes. I mean. The Supreme Leader needs our support.”

“Of course. I think everyone agrees with you.” Kaliss made eye contact with a few of the other attendees. Each nodded meekly. “Continuity is important in an organization such as ours. Supreme Leader Ren knows this. Through his wisdom and guidance the Order will prevail.”

Hux snorted.

Matt pounded his fist on his thigh. “Exactly! Thank you!”

“Good.” Kaliss sounded pleased. “Now, who else would like to talk about how they’re feeling?”

“I—” Stix started. “I’m having a difficult time—”

“And General Hux!” Matt spoke up again. “Hux hates him. He’s so alone.”

“Okay.” Hux could see Kaliss attempting to mentally regain equilibrium. She gave Stix a soft, placating look before turning back to Matt. “I see. That must be very hard for Leader Ren. Does anyone else want to talk about feelings of loneliness?”

“It _is_ hard,” Matt insisted miserably.

Hux had to force his jaw closed. Was this a gift from the Force itself? Some kind of divine intervention? Not in his wildest dreams had he ever expected to hear Ren express such abject vulnerability, nor hear him acknowledge Hux’s hate for him with something akin to frustrated sorrow. The truth was, Ren’s intrinsic value as a warrior had always trumped his lesser impulses. And Snoke, of course. Snoke had kept them just far enough apart from one another to avoid an untimely death and stars only knew what else.

“He lacks guidance,” said Matt. “With Snoke gone, and the, the— He has no one to talk to.”

“Jeez, buddy,” the man to Matt’s left groaned. “What are you? His mother?”

“Oh _kriff_ ,” Hux whispered. He was about to be short a lieutenant.

Matt’s whole face turned red. He sucked his thick bottom lip into his mouth. Hux prepared himself to watch someone get Force-choked and for this entire ruse to go directly out the window. But there was Kaliss, moving with preternatural speed to stand and place a comforting hand on Matt’s shoulder. Hux prepared himself to watch two Force-chokings; but against all odds, Matt sagged back in his seat, his shoulders relaxing on a hissed out sigh.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, but the fight had gone out of him.

Hux was going to give Kaliss a raise.

“We have chosen difficult but truly rewarding lives in our service to the Order,” Kaliss said. She gave Matt’s shoulder a squeeze before sitting back down and folding her hands in her lap. “When times are hard it’s important to have someone to talk to, and you can always take comfort in knowing that you are united, each of you, by a common cause. Let’s take a moment, shall we? Close our eyes, turn our thoughts to the people we share our troubles with, or the little things we do for ourselves when life gets overwhelming. Take a few nice, soothing breaths as well. In… and out. And then again. Good.”

Hux found himself breathing along with the group. He could feel the tension dissipate from the room as though he, too, had the Force. Even Ren settled into the rhythmic breathing with ease, although Hux supposed he was already well acquainted with meditation. There was a half-remembered conversation they’d had many years ago hovering in the far reaches of his mind. Ren was only a tiny thorn in his side then, boyish and off-putting, and doggedly interested in Hux’s attention and approval. He’d been saying something about the comforts of meditation, and “Major, you could benefit from a little bit of stress relief,” and “Major, I’d be happy to show you if you want...”

Maybe Hux should have taken him up on it instead of brushing him off. Maybe Kylo Ren _was_ lonely. Maybe that was half Ren’s problem. It made him think of Phasma; in her absence, Hux had become rather lonely himself. He’d barely given himself time to grieve for her. Maybe he should have. She’d been memorialized along with all the others who had perished over the past few weeks, but he could have done more for her. She’d been his friend.

Hux felt his stomach twist; all of this quiet breathing was getting to him. He didn’t have time to dwell on such things.

The session continued in a much calmer fashion once Kaliss stopped the guided meditation, but Hux was distracted by his own thoughts. At least, he noted, Ren managed to let other participants speak before they wrapped up. As the attendees filed out, Hux still wasn’t sure if group therapy had value beyond a public airing of one’s dirty laundry, but he’d been left with much to think about all the same. He would obviously be returning to this particular group next week; there was no way he would pass up an opportunity to observe Ren unawares and in the franky ridiculous position of masquerading as a radar technician. It would be hilarious if it weren’t so intriguing. What revealing information would Ren share next week, and would he bring up Hux again? Titillating, _very_ titillating.

A small, bitter realization flared in Hux’s mind as he gathered himself: here was Supreme Leader Kylo Ren on a journey of kriffing _self-discovery_ while Hux was left holding the First Order together with two hands. Nevermind that he enjoyed the work. Nevermind that having Ren temporarily out of the way was a great boon to their progress. Nevermind especially that he’d long insisted—often unkindly—that Ren required psychiatric help. It simply wasn’t _fair_. It wasn’t fair that Ren could take time for himself, however oddly he’d chosen to take it. One day, as soon as they were back in fighting form and Hux was absolutely certain of his place in things, he was going to take a fortnight long shoreleave and attempt leaving his comm unanswered for once. No therapy or costuming, just very large glasses of wine, fine cigarras, luxurious bedclothes, and maybe a bit of gentlemanly gambling. He could already taste the salt in the air at some sumptuous tropical resort.

Seaside fantasies carried Hux all the way back to the _Finalizer’s_ main deck and then to her bridge. 1400 marked the start of his watch, and it would continue until 1900 when he might retire to his quarters for another hour or so of administrative work. He typically took a small supper around 2100, and saw himself to sleep (with the aid of a sedative) at precisely 2300. His days were measured out in papers to sign, troops to advise, and projects to oversee. He was a very busy man in high demand; so of course Ren’s vacation from authority was galling.

He was still mulling over Matt the radar technician when Baxter commed him the following cycle for a debriefing session. Without hesitation Hux let her know that he would prefer to view the same group the following week before they had any sort of post-mortem.

“To get a more holistic sense of the thing,” he wrote.

“As you wish,” Baxter sent back. And then, “perhaps a different session sooner might work for you?”

Hux said no. He wasn’t about to give up his motivations. And he felt an unexpected though thoroughly irritating urge to protect Kylo Ren.

A week later found him back in his observation room, practically vibrating with anticipation. He’d heard from Ren several times in the preceding days, mostly with status update requests and a few questions about current Order-space worlds. Nothing too suspect or out of the ordinary, and it gave Hux a thrill to know that he’d gotten away with watching Ren bare his emotions after spending so much time worrying that Ren was rooting around in his own head with that blasted Force wizardry of his.

Then something uniquely awful happened: 1300 came and went and there was no sign of Matt. In fact, there wasn’t even a chair for him. This wouldn’t do. Where had he gone? Had Ren quit? Was he a _quitter_? The session began as it last time, and continued for several minutes while Hux sat and stewed, mind racing. This was a breach of protocol; he was sure of it. Before Hux could truly consider the repercussions, he was on his feet.

“Where is he?” he spat, practically tripping as he burst out of his hiding place. The entire group went stock-still in response, like animals caught in a rifle sight, small creatures knowing true fear for the first time.

“Who, sir?” Kaliss kept her voice level. She didn’t blink at his sudden disruption.

“The man who. Ren.”

“Pardon?”

“I mean.” Hux took a deep breath. “Matt. That man who’s obsessed with Kylo Ren. With the Supreme Leader. Has he quit?”

Half the group attendees managed to give each other the side-eye. Clearly their disdain for their erstwhile therapeutic brother-in-arms outweighed their survival instincts. Hux had half an impulse to admonish them; don’t roll your eyes at your Supreme Leader in such a disrespectful fashion. Don’t think yourselves better. Don’t—

“Perhaps we could speak later?” Kaliss tried

“Where. Is. He.”

“He’s been transferred to individual therapy, sir. At Counselor Baxter’s discretion.”

“Well, get him back!”

Hux watched Kaliss weigh her response in an attempt to find the appropriate one; the response that would let her return to the work at hand. He must have looked unhinged. Every individual present aside from Kaliss was looking down at their hands. Stix looked like he was trying not to smile. Ingrates. He should space the lot of them, _especially_ Stix.

“He’s simply better suited to individualized care, sir. We are trained to assess—“

Hux turned heel with a wordless growl, giving no thought to what Kaliss may have had to say. He needed to speak with Baxter. He couldn’t submit Ren to the treatment plan approved for problem patients. And he couldn’t submit Baxter to Ren’s no doubt violent response. He wasn’t about to let the Supreme Leader get bloody _decommissioned_ (or worse!) just because he didn’t play well with others. Foolish, indulgent: that’s what allowing this sham to go forward was. For all he knew, Baxter was already decommissioned herself due to a resounding bit of Force misuse.

 _Kriff_ , he couldn’t even remember where her private office was and had to shamefully consult a directional console before storming her way. They would have some much needed _real talk_. Hux would set her straight.

He didn’t bother checking her calendar; he was as certain as a fatal blaster bolt that she would be ready and available to receive him. After all, she reported to him.

The secretary seated outside Baxter’s office did little to stop Hux as he keyed in his all-ship override code and let himself into her office on his own. Not even a “sir, please don’t!” passed his lips. Was everyone utterly useless today?

Baxter stood up to greet him like she’d expected him. She offered him a genial head tilt. “General.”

Hux was brought up short. He pointed back at the door as though to admonish its insolence, mouth opening and closing several times like a guppy. “That boy—“

“Ensign Garbi.”

“He didn’t do a thing to stop me. You may want to speak with him about his insufficient gatekeeping.”

“Consider it done. Have a seat, sir.”

“We need to have _words_ , Captain,” Hux snapped, using her rank like an insult. His fists clenched at his sides.

Baxter raised one of her impertinent eyebrows. “Tea, sir?”

“Fine, yes. Thank you.”

“Please, sit.”

Hux sat, feeling rather pressured to do so—not unlike the feeling he’d gotten when Snoke had seen fit to exert his _influence._

Baxter placed a tumbler of steaming hot tea before him on her desk and sat down beside him in the other leather chair. She gave him an enigmatic smile. It sent a strange, familiar chill down Hux’s spine.

“ _You_ —” he began, recognition dawning.

“Barely,” said Baxter. “Just enough to be helpful with the work I do. More of an overdeveloped sense of empathy than anything else. And maybe a minor ability to make very… _convincing_ suggestions.”

“You should be court martialed for not disclosing this information,” Hux said, almost impressed. He shuttered his mind quickly; he’d had much practice. “This is a punishable offense if not properly reported to your superiors.”

Baxter flinched. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Don’t you always?”

“Touché.”

“Get on with it.” Hux stifled the urge to groan. Of all the universes he could have been born into, why was he cursed to suffer the one with the Force in?

Baxter tucked a loose strand of ethereal blonde hair behind her ear. “I must admit: I didn’t know what it was until very recently.”

Hux steepled his fingers and affected a blank expression while jealousy he couldn’t quite explain curdled his innards. This could only be Ren’s hand at work. “So he’s come clean, has he?”

“No, but—his emotions are in turmoil. He’s loud, sir. Despairing. Seeking something, and yet too distraught and distracted to pick up on my own nascent abilities. Just being around him—“ Baxter gave a funny, wistful sigh and Hux’s opinion of her plummeted. “—just being around him has made my own sensitivity expand. It’s astounding.”

“Well, see that it expands no further.”

“I’m not positive—”

“Baxter, you are a fine officer and a good counselor. An even better interrogator, although that makes more sense now. To wit: I do not wish to see you meet an untimely end, either at the hands of our dear leader, or through human capital management, simply because you found yourself greedily biting off more than you could chew.”

Baxter blinked at him, then she blinked twice more, digesting his words. “Understood, but. I believe I could be of use to you, General.”

“How so?” Hux prompted, his own wheels already turning. Even a vaguely Force sensitive individual would be a powerful ally, this he knew for certain. Blast the Force and all its complications.

“Have I ever given you reason to doubt my loyalty?”

“I suppose not.”

“Perhaps it would put your mind at ease to observe my next session with Matt. You could watch in your own office, on the closed-circuit channel. My process is above board, sir. I’m not some—” Baxter’s nose wrinkled, “—two credit charlatan.”

Hux bit back a smile. Now _there_ was the proper attitude where the Force was concerned. And she was right, she could be of use to him, and not only with regard to Kylo Ren. Their war was not yet won, and he’d always prided himself on collecting interesting and valuable people. He’d once believed Ren could be among them. And just thinking of Ren brought the ancient offer of joint meditation unbidden to his mind.

“And when is your next session with ‘Matt?’”

“Next cycle, at this time. He’s actually already been thrice now. A commendable commitment to self-care.”

“Getting familiar, aren’t we?” Hux sneered.

“No more than strictly necessary, and solely on a professional level.” Baxter gave him an appraising look that Hux did not relish.

He sighed. “Very well. Tomorrow, 1330.”

“Until then.” Baxter stood when he did and saluted.

Hux was nearly out the door when she touched him—touched _him_ , how very presumptuous—lightly on his bicep.

“Sir, part of our methodology is to meet our patients halfway there. When someone suffers from delusional thinking, for example, we enter into the delusion with them in an effort to offer the best care we can. Which is to say, my session tomorrow is with _Matt_ , but you should know: your name will come up. And I just.” Baxter’s mouth thinned into a line and she swallowed. “I wanted to prepare you, for when he mentions you.”

“I have no doubt he will,” Hux sniffed, and refrained from calling her a fool. “Back to work now, Captain.”

Baxter nodded her assent.

His comm buzzed shortly after he left the medical wing; it filled him with a sense of foreboding that usually meant one thing: the Supreme Leader was summoning his presence. They hadn’t seen one another face to face in several cycles and Ren’s message was typically cryptic.

 **1358: REN >>** my quarters

 **1358: REN >>** now

Hux rolled his eyes despite an uptick in his heart rate. Not long ago he would have sent back a suitably scathing reply. Or at least something rude about Kylo Ren’s lack of manners. His current situation, however, required that he simply frown and bear it. The plan to witness Ren’s private therapy session the following cycle would sustain him, but he knew he had to push anticipation from his mind, make that place carefully blank to avoid any suspicion on Ren’s part. He didn’t think of himself as anything so tawdry as a voyeur, but with just one taste he’d developed a craving for watching Ren in secret.

This wasn’t exactly a new development.

When Ren first came aboard the _Finalizer_ , Hux had tracked his movements onship with borderline obsessiveness that even Phasma had commented on.

“I just want to know what I’m dealing with,” Hux had said. “If we’re to host this— _pupil_ of Snoke’s, then it’s appropriate to know how best to… support him in his cause.”

Phasma gave him one of _those_ looks; the same look that often accompanied a teasing admonishment about how many glasses of wine Hux had imbibed. “How best to support him indeed,” she said.

“Oh you know what I mean.” Hux frowned at his monitor, where Kylo Ren was captured destroying three sparring droids, shirtless and sweaty and grunting audibly. Hux tugged at his collar. It had been very warm in his office that day and he was only human. “Come off it.”

Phasma smirked. They had known each for too long. The camera feed showed one droid fall to the ground with a pitiful whine. It was smoking. “That thing’s done for,” said Phasma.

“I’m going to require a budget increase,” Hux had groaned.

Stars, he really did miss Phasma. He wasn’t sure if he would have shared this whole Matt-the-Radar-Technician debacle with her, but he knew she would have been tickled if he had. He could picture her big smile, the way she would have thrown back her head in delighted laughter. He’d appreciated that she was willing to be candid with him; that was a very rare quality in a subordinate. He would have liked to have her around for this regime change, too. She and Ren had gotten on, as shocking as that was, and she could have offered him valuable insight. She also might have usurped him, had Ren seen fit…

Maybe these were the kinds of banal hurts that people discussed in counseling.

Hux’s comm buzzed again.

 **1365: REN >>** where are u

Ren clearly had no idea where he was coming from, which was a relief. Hux picked up the pace; Ren’s impatience had only grown with his ascension and he was waiting for Hux when the doors to his rooms slid open to admit the general.

“You took your time,” he said.

“My apologies, Supreme Leader.” Hux’s body fell naturally into stiff parade rest.

Ren waved hand at him, either at his apology or the use of his title. “Did you have a nice stroll?”

“It’s a large ship, sir.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Ren made a thoughtful sound and perched himself on a chair arm to observe Hux like a great, pale bird of prey. He looked—rested. Even his hair was tidier than Hux remembered seeing it last. Swept back from his face and once again glossy, as it had been when Hux first met him, when he was fresh from his time as a golden child of the Republic. His cheeks hadn’t quite lost their baby fat then, but his body had been, _well_ , well-formed was one way of putting it.

Kylo Ren’s quarters were much the same as his, and not nearly as grand as they could have been had he taken over Snoke’s stateroom on the _Finalizer_. Ren had the same small kitchenette, raised counter, and stools that Hux did. A workstation and computer console. There was presumably a bedroom beyond the other set of doors, likely just as dull as these main rooms, as well as a meditation chamber if Hux’s memory served him. He’d overseen the appointment of these quarters himself, of course, in preparation for Ren’s arrival. And just beyond the entrance vestibule was the same receiving area Hux had—one low couch and a black lucite and brass coffee table, complemented by a pair of utilitarian leather armchairs, one of which Ren was currently misusing. Ren had taken no pains to decorate or make the space even slightly more personal, as Hux had. Ren likely saw it as a weakness that Hux had made a few modifications to the standard furniture; Ren hadn’t spent his childhood in space. But Hux had, and he refused to deny himself small comforts, especially now.

Ren continued his silent staring, accompanied by an infuriating head tilt.

“Was there something you needed?” Hux asked, resisting the urge to fidget. He didn’t like the sensation of being evaluated, especially not by Ren. It raised the familiar anxiety of being found wanting. He concentrated on keeping his mind clear, although he could usually tell when Ren was attempting to root around his thoughts like some hapless gardener pulling up flowers as well as weeds. He didn’t seem to be now.

“There have been memorial services,” Ren said at last. “I wasn’t informed.”

“You’ve received the daily electronic notices just like everyone else.”

“I don’t read my messages.”

“Of course you don’t,” Hux muttered.

“What was that, General?”

Hux scowled. “I said, of course you shouldn’t. You need an aide, Supreme Leader. I’ve been remiss in my duties; we should have provided you one. Someone to keep you abreast of important goings-on. Someone you can trust.”

“You be my aide.”

“I’m truly flattered,” Hux said, piqued in spite of himself by the notion that Ren trusted him, wishing to decline, and knowing Ren wouldn’t allow him to. He decided to try anyway. “But my responsibilities lie with our troops and with the Order herself. We will find someone suitable for you.”

“What about Baxter? That mind medic.”

“No,” Hux replied, too quickly. “She won’t do.” He could feel his face warming. That Baxter would be Ren’s second choice… that Ren had apparently seen something in her in the few measly hours he’d spent in her company after Hux had spent years by Ren’s side, proving his worth.

“So, you, then.”

“Sir, I—” Hux dropped out of form to clench his fists at his sides.

Ren scoffed. “This selfless, upright servant act is cute, General. But it doesn’t suit you. Not with me.”

“Fine.” Hux stepped closer, so he could look down at Ren’s amused face. “I’ll be your ‘aide,’ but solely because I cannot trust you not to murder the first hapless soul assigned to you. You already pester me; why not make it official.”

“Much better.” Ren’s expression remained in place. He really did seem—more even keeled. It was disconcerting. “I have a task for you.”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been thinking—”

“How taxing.”

“General.” It was a warning, and it came with slight pressure against his throat. So things weren’t entirely resolved between them, then.

Hux wheezed when the Force-grip let up. “Terribly sorry. Sir.”

“You push your luck,” Ren said. He shook his head bemusedly. “So wonderfully controlled, except when it comes to me. You can’t stop yourself. I could throw you around like a ragdoll and you’d get right back up. Wouldn’t you?”

“I have,” Hux demurred. “And I would.”

“Hm.” Ren had that considering look again. It felt intrusive and too curious. _I could show you how to meditate, Major…_ came to mind once more. Hadn’t Ren looked at him like that? All those years ago? Sizing him up, feeling him out. Had they been circling one another like two caged dogs? It seemed they had; and Hux, who prided himself on his powers of observation, somehow hadn’t realized it. Suddenly it seemed possible that Ren had made himself an easy target for his curiosity; that he’d been an active partner in a long, complicated dance. How deeply strange, how oddly satisfying.

Hux cleared his throat, feeling contrite. “You were saying?”

“Order relies on continuity. That’s what I’ve been thinking. Our troops should know—the _galaxy_ should know—who leads the most powerful military force in the universe.”

“Right, of course,” Hux said. Thinking: they know me. Thinking: my stars, is he parroting his kriffing therapy back at me?

“You have an… affinity for spectacle. You like your little rallies.” Hux refused to balk at his derisive tone, but his eyes widened at Ren’s next words. “Plan me one. Let’s show the rebel scum _exactly_ who they have to fear. What _real_ galactic supremacy looks like. We’ll show them the true might of the First Order, beyond weapons and men. Let’s show them _destiny_.” Ren’s hands had balled up into furious fists atop his thighs. His eyes had a menacing glint to them that made Hux’s breath catch. He felt himself nodding mutely and realized his mouth had fallen open slightly.

“When?”

Ren stood and shrugged. “Whenever you see fit.”

“We’ll have it simulcast on every Order world and well beyond,” Hux said, baring his teeth, warming to the idea. “ _We’ll make them all kneel._ ”

“See it done.” Ren exhaled heavily through his nose; and during that moment of extended eye contact, Hux wondered if Ren felt the same surge of powerful excitement that he did. If it was tingling Ren’s nerve endings as it was his.

“And keep me updated on your progress. If this goes to plan you might be rewarded. For your efforts.”

Hux was overtaken by lightheadedness; his coveted title change dangled before him _._ Of course Ren knew what he desired most, at least some of it. “Supreme Leader,” he said, tipping his head down just enough to express deferential gratitude. “It will be done.”

“I’ll need some new clothes, too,” Ren added. “Something with red.” He was looking down at his black robes.

The lightheadedness persisted. Hux was assaulted by an image of Ren draped in an Order red cape, hair blowing back in the breeze, princely looking, boots planted firmly on a stage of Hux’s own design. Legions of Stormtroopers taking a knee, and Hux, perhaps in a cape of his own, standing to the Supreme Leader’s right, steady-gazed, eyes turned toward the stars and all they would conquer.

“General, you’re panting,” Ren’s voice lilted.

Hux shook himself. “Right. Of course. Right.” He adjusted his sleeves with two quick tugs and when he looked back up, Ren’s expression had a keen, hungry quality. Had the vision been his or Ren’s? Did it even matter? Ren licked his lips. “I have much to prepare,” Hux said, knowing with absolute certainty that he had to go before they could stare at one another in this state any longer.

“Yeah. Yes. You’ve overstayed your welcome.” Ren sounded unconvinced.

“Supreme Leader.” Hux took his leave wondering if he’d said Ren’s title with a little too much feeling.

 

There wasn’t much time to fret over it. With the addition of Ren’s requested rally, Hux had more than enough work to distract himself from any anxiety lingering in the wake of their conversation. And to distract him from the look on Ren’s face as he’d turned to go. In his memory of it, Ren looked flushed, mouth just slightly open, eyes burning. Obviously Hux’s imagination was running away from him. Still, he felt… pleased with the outcome of their interaction. Ren had even complimented him, in his own terrible, roundabout way. Hux didn’t just have an affinity for spectacle; he had a bloody _gift_ for it.

He set himself wholeheartedly to the task of making Kylo Ren’s first public appearance a magnificent display that would be remembered for generations to come. There was the matter of securing an appropriate location, sending invitations, arranging a live simulcast that would disrupt scheduled programming on at least twenty-one different worlds, Order and Republic alike. They would need an impeccable run-of-show. Hux would introduce the new Supreme Leader to the masses, of course, and he would require a brand new speech for the occasion, something grand and lofty.

It gave him chills just thinking about it. He’d always had a weak spot for proximity to greatness. Maybe, with his help, Kylo Ren could be truly great. He was certainly powerful; the most powerful man in the galaxy. If he hadn’t been such a royal pain the arse Hux could have even seen his way to respecting him.

Alas.

The following cycle he was consulting a recent Nabooian fashion publication while taking his midday meal, thinking about a bold new look for Ren’s coming-out, when he remembered with the force of a gut punch that he was going to spy on Ren’s therapy session in just a few short hours. His stomach flipped. He had always been—curious. As a boy his father had often called him a snoop, which wasn’t fair. Hux simply knew that knowledge was the greatest weapon in one’s personal arsenal; and given his stature and his limited physical strength, he’d recognized early on that his own power would have to come from intelligence and information.

And maybe his striking appearance, but only a bit.

He hastily finished his noodles and the small container of glistening gemfruit he’d selected as an after-meal treat, then brewed himself a cup of strong, dark tea. He almost considered meditating for a moment before settling in at his console to access the closed-circuit system. It was worrisome to have a sudden attack of morals. Had speaking with Ren the day before really been so affecting that he was considering Ren’s privacy all of a sudden? He refused to believe that he was that susceptible to vague praise. And he certainly wasn’t susceptible to Ren’s charmless personality, or the renewed charge in the air between them.

No, he would remain steadfast in his purpose. Watching Ren’s foolish therapy session was for the good of the Order, as was all Hux did.

At just past 1330 he cued up the CC-holo and willed his stomach to unknot.

The picture was as crisp as any of their internal feeds, and there sat Kylo Ren, once again dressed as his stupid radar technician persona. The wig was probably the most offensive part, although the glasses were a close second. He’d managed to procure off-duty clothes—a long-sleeved black shirt and loose grey trousers—and this alone was jarring enough that Hux almost abandoned the plan to watch altogether. Ren’s long, somber face was nodding silently as Baxter welcomed him back and opened the floor to anything new he might like to discuss.

It was difficult for Hux not to try and picture him without the wig. He looked, though foolish, so very normal. But when he hunched over toward Baxter’s desk, his elbows on his knees, his back muscles shifting beneath his shirt, he was, to Hux at least, unmistakably the man he knew. Kylo Ren exuded raw, brute strength, impossible to conceal behind his disguise. Maybe he was using the Force to influence the exact impression he gave. Maybe only someone like Baxter, lightly Force-sensitive, or someone like him, grown so accustomed to watching, would be able to see past the ruse and recognize him. In a self-protective way, Hux preferred his Force theory.

“You seem calm,” Baxter said. Hux held his breath.

“Yeah,” said Matt. Then three more times, accompanied by nodding.

“That must feel good. Has something changed?”

Matt bit at his lower lip. He looked like he was actively working out how to tell the truth without blowing his cover. Hux was once again struck by the absurdity of what he was witnessing. Was Ren not a powerful space wizard? Could he not simply be himself, as it were, and strip Baxter of the memory later? He imagined what Ren might say in response to his musings: that’s not how the Force works.

“Take your time,” said Baxter.

“Things are, uh, looking up,” Matt said after a pause. “I was having trouble. Adjusting. After _Starkiller_ and the. The stuff on the _Supremacy_. But things are getting better.”

“Those were disruptive occurrences. You’re not alone.”

“I’m not?” Matt blinked. “No, I’m not. Kylo Ren, too. Is doing better. I can tell.”

 _Ah, here we go_ , thought Hux. A frisson of malicious glee zipped through him.

“He’s figuring it out. He told me. He’s really—getting the hang of. All this.”

Baxter hummed.

“We talk, you know,” Matt said. He was daring her to challenge him; Hux knew that tone. It was at once petulant and menacing. He must have been a truly loathsome toddler. It was no wonder his parents had shipped him off to Force school or what have you. “He talks to me. At the fitness center. Because he works out a lot. Me too. Sometimes we use the sauna. It’s nice.” Matt said nice more aggressively than any individual should have been able to say the word nice.

“You’re very proud of your physical strength.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a credit to the Order.” That made Ren preen and Hux sneer. Baxter went on, “You could serve admirably in any of our ranks.”

Matt snorted. “Yeah. Some of the officers. Aren’t exactly hitting the gym regularly.” His eyes went a little shifty. “I can say that, right? In here?”

Baxter nodded encouragingly. Hux had the distinct sense that his name was about to come up.

“I’m not stupid,” Matt said. “I know what I look like. But, I’m not. And some of these officers, I know they think I’m stupid. Crusty old Imperial leftovers, hangers-on. They don’t respect anyone. Not me. Certainly not Hux.”

He was right. Hux had actually caught Peavey bad-mouthing both him and Kylo Ren once. They had yet to ascend to their current stations, otherwise the man would be dead by now. But Hux had a special kind of distaste for Peavey and his soft-middled, soft-minded ilk.

“Do you think it’s important that the other officers respect General Hux?” Baxed asked.

“Yes,” Matt snarled, then flinched as though ashamed of how ardent he sounded.

Hux leaned in ever so slightly toward his screen.

“Respect is important to you. Is Hux important to you? As a leader?”

“Hux is.” Matt paused, his expression becoming vaguely constipated. “Hux is good. At his job. Kylo Ren needs him. If the other officers—the older, jealous fools who hate him—if the Supreme Leader had his way he’d thin out their ranks. They’re part of the old world; their kind of thinking is dying out. The last embers of the Empire and its failed rule will die with them, and something new, better, _glorious_ even, will take its place. In us.”

“Stars, _yes_ ,” Hux whispered, all alone, and enthralled.

“An admirable vision,” said Baxter, breaking the spell.

Hux shook off his momentary lapse of control. He’d broken out into gooseflesh just listening to Kylo Ren. It was a marked turn from his usual contempt when it came to Ren and his _visions_. Except—this was _true_ vision, forward thinking, future-driven. It was, admittedly, a good look for their young, new Supreme Leader. Even in the wig he managed to be passionate and unconventionally handsome, especially so when his uncensored words matched Hux’s own dreams for the Order.

He felt a bit blindsided; as though a veil had been lifted between the Kylo Ren he knew and the leader Kylo Ren might become.

“What else is going on in Matt’s world?” Baxter inquired.

“I thought. Uh. Maybe we could talk about my mom some more?”

“Of course.” Baxter’s smile was soft and warm. “Wherever you’d like to begin.”

Hux groaned. How terrifically unappealing and boring. He felt a growing urge to comm Ren and interrupt the session. He had a list of unsatisfactory officers, mostly Imperial relics, that he would love to present to his Supreme Leader. No time like the present. Without turning off the holofeed, Hux picked up his comm and sent Ren a meeting request.

“Personnel issues,” he wrote, which felt suitably vague.

On the screen, he watched Ren jolt slightly when the message came through on his own device. Hux allowed himself a small smirk as Matt apologized to Baxter and freed his comm from a large, deep pocket in his drab trousers. Ren raised an eyebrow as he looked down at the text and Hux’s smirk grew.

 **1343: REN >>** later. i’m busy.

 **1343: HUX >>** Oh? Do you require my assistance?

He was outright smiling now, feeling as though he were playing a particularly good schoolboy prank. A few seconds passed while Ren glared at his device screen. Baxter wore an expression of studied disinterest.

 **1345: REN >>** all fine. we can speak later. i’ll comm you.

 _“_ Eagerly awaiting it,” Hux sent back.

On the screen, Ren’s cheeks colored slightly (curious) and he shoved his comm back into his pocket with all the grace of an awkward teenager. Hux shut off the feed before he had to listen to the Supreme Leader whine about his terrorist mother. When all this was through, he was going to send Baxter some kind of fruit basket, or ice flowers. She had been quite right: viewing this session had been enlightening, and she’d been right to pull Kylo Ren out of group therapy, too, otherwise he might not have opened up about his staffing concerns. What a funny web of deceit they were ensnared in; it was all rather sporting, in a way. Hux adored petty subterfuge nearly as much as he did base showmanship. And here was Kylo Ren, allowing him his fill of both.

Determined to make the most of what he’d just seen, as well as his upcoming meeting with Ren, Hux opened the dossier of notes he’d been collecting on “problematic subordinates.” It was a habit he’d picked up from Rae Sloane; his mentor had been a meticulous record keeper, taking careful note of individuals she deemed of interest with a ruthlessness that Hux admired greatly. After she passed, he combed through her private files, delighting in the varied and clever epithets she’d used for the rank and file and officers alike. His own personal notes were built on the backbone of hers.

She would be proud, now, to see him putting it all to good use. Captain Peavey, who had always preferred his father to Sloane, would be the first to go, assuming Ren’s interest wasn’t fleeting. He would find out soon enough; Ren requested his presence shortly thereafter. Hux gathered up his notes into a neat file and uploaded them to his datapad. He had a presentation to give.

Ren was finishing what looked like an elaborate late lunch when Hux arrived and was let into his quarters without having to buzz.

“General.” Ren nodded at him, fork in hand, mouth full.

“Supreme Leader, thank you for seeing me.”

Ren rolled his eyes, which was becoming his customary response to any of Hux’s pleasantries. He’d dispatched with the Matt costume, but he looked slightly wet around the eyes, as though he’d finished up his therapy session in tears. Hux was suddenly glad to have left Ren to it; he’d prefer to keep the memory of Ren-as-Matt’s fiery little speech separate from Ren’s troubled family history. Even now he sometimes wished he knew less of Ren’s past.

“Personnel issues?” Ren asked. His tone said “get on with it.”

“Right. Yes. It has come to my attention, via multiple sources over an extended period of information gathering, that some among us are no longer productive members of our organization. In fact, some may have been a burden from the outset, spreading their poison from within.” He gestured to his datapad, which he’d been brandishing animatedly about as he spoke. He needed to reign it in before things got out of hand. “May I?”

“I asked you here, didn’t I?” Ren looked bored, regally bored. It was irksome.

Hux exhaled through his nose. “Here.” He tapped the datapad and a translucent projection of the screen sprung up enlarged before them. Official officer portraits accompanied by names, ranks, serial numbers and years served were listed in three neat rows.

Ren whistled. “Planning a coup, Hux?”

“It’s not a coup if you’re already in charge.”

Ren grunted a laugh. “What’s your plan?”

“I—” Hux paused. “What makes you think I have a plan?”

Ren dropped a used napkin on the table before he stood—it’d been in his lap, Hux noted, like a proper person might use one—and stalked closer to the projection, put himself directly beside Hux, close enough that Hux could feel exactly how near he was. “You always have a plan. Always scheming away. That one—” he jabbed an ungloved finger at an officer portrait. “Deserves spacing. Is that your plan?”

He was pointing at Peavey. Hux was thrilled. “Yes, actually. A show tribunal and then execution.”

“And what, exactly, will your show court find him guilty of? What will any of them be guilty of?” Ren crossed his arms over his chest. His shirtsleeves strained with it, his bicep brushed Hux’s own. Hux swallowed.

"They don't respect you. This is _your_ regime. There can be no place for that here."

Ren made a considering sound. “What about you, General? What are you guilty of?”

For a heart-stopping moment Hux wondered if he were about to be taken to task, if Ren knew what he’d been getting up to. But there was no tell-tale tickle at the back of his mind, no feeling of being stripped bare at Ren’s whim. He’d had his mind read often enough to know exactly what to look for.

“My only crime is wanting what’s best for the Order. For you. Through any means necessary. As I said, these people do not respect you. Or me. _Or_ our cause. They are a blight.”

"And do you?” Ren asked, his voice thick. “Respect me?"

"I—yes, I do," said Hux. Finding that he wanted to mean it. That his own mind had been made up for him in the intervening time between his spying and this moment. He’d learned that eye contact could be as convincing as a sharp knife, and he turned to face Ren head-on.

Ren blinked at him. Then, as though he were drawing the words out slowly on a string, he said, "Respect is important. For a good working relationship."

"Is that what this is?"

"Don’t twist my words, General."

"Is that what you want it to be? When—" Hux took a deep, steadying breath, suddenly certain he could take a very different tack if he wanted to. That Ren might be able to see him as an ally, if he played it right. "It could be so much more. Should you wish it, Supreme Leader."

He lowered his eyes with a calculated flutter of lashes and wanted very badly to see the look on Ren’s wide-open face.

He didn’t expect Ren’s huge, bared hand to seize his wrist.

His eyes went wide, his breath caught in his throat. Ren’s fingers cinched hard enough to bruise. Somehow their scant height difference became immeasurably vast. Hux leaned away, but Ren pulled him back by his wrist, clamped down on his other shoulder and trapped him in place.

“ _Ren_.”

Ren only breathed at him; eyes searching his face for a sign Hux couldn’t discern.

“Supreme Leader, I only meant—”

“Stop,” Ren growled. “You think you can manipulate me. With this.” He gave Hux a leering once-over that made Hux recoil at his own reaction to it, the tremor of arousal that threatened the core of him. “With all of it.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Ren scoffed, so dismissive Hux could feel it like a caress, ghostly knuckles stroking his jaw, skirting the edge of thrilling pain. Maybe it _was_ the Force at work. “How long has it been, _Hux_ , since someone called you out on your little mind games? Since someone forced you to put up—” Ren’s lip twitched minutely. “Or shut up?”

“What would you like me to put up?”

“You know I can feel it.” Ren’s eyes closed, he swayed closer. He was crushing Hux’s wrist. “You think you’re subtle; you’re not. I can tell you’re—hmm, _adaptable_. What an admirable quality, General.”

Hux longed to flee. He wanted to swoon. His senses narrowed to the feel of Ren’s touch, to the sheer, maddening proximity of Ren’s body, his infuriating tone. Ren’s large, hot palm dragged up his shoulder until his thumb could press down on Hux’s sternum. It felt like the promise of violence, and something more; something wanton. Hux felt his throat work against the weight of it. He wet his lips and shifted his knee just enough to bring his hip in contact with Ren’s groin.

“Adaptability is as valuable as respect,” he said at last, meeting Ren’s eyes, this time with his own question.

Ren looked down at their bodies and back up at him. Behind them a legion of traitors served to cast their faces in eerie blue. Suddenly Ren looked terribly young. His mouth gave that funny little twitch again and he dropped Hux’s wrist like the contact had burned him.

“Kill who you want,” he said, tossing his hair back. “Don’t bother me with your schemes unless I ask you to.”

For a moment Hux was unable to move. Ren’s self-restraint lashed at him. He’d thought. He wanted. His entire body hummed with desire, with how badly he wanted Ren to throw him across the closest surface and take whatever he wanted. Or, perhaps more tantalizing, to let Hux take what he did. They glared at one another. Ren _had_ to feel it. He looked stricken; his cheeks were flushed.

Hux wanted him. Every wretched inch of him. He adjusted his uniform jacket.

“Here.” Ren thrust his datapad at him.

“I have an update on the—your requested rally.” There was a crawling, familiar desperation not to lose ground gripping at him; he grasped for a reason to keep talking, to stay in these rooms and near this man. What had become of him since Snoke’s death? Clawing for a purpose to remain in Kylo Ren’s presence.

“I’ll comm you.”

“Supreme Leader, really, these things cannot wait. There is only a finite amount of time, and as the window narrows, it becomes difficult—”

“ _You_ can wait, though. I intend to make you wait. Until I’m ready for you.”

Ren all but shoved his datapad into his hands and Hux was forced to take it. He grit his teeth and hugged the thing to his chest. “As you wish, Supreme Leader.”

It wasn’t until he was back in his own quarters, furiously touching himself to the memory of Ren’s hands on him, that he realized Ren’s parting words may have been an oath. After rinsing off his palm, the shame at what he’d just done was more delicious than his release.

 

Hux managed his lingering disappointment in the same fashion he always had: he threw himself into work. The _Supremacy_ project was coming along nicely, and two minor uprisings on Order worlds were easily quashed. He reported both instances to Kylo Ren and received _an emoji_ , of all things, in return. Yet undimmed he continued to plan Ren’s galactic debut as well. His speech was nearly finished and a date was set for the following month. He’d chosen Endor Day as a not-so-subtle affront to the New Republic, and looked forward to interrupting the frivolous fireworks broadcasts with a pageant of his own design.

Feeling pleased with himself, he decided to watch Ren’s most recent counseling session. Perhaps it would help him move things in the right direction, make them more to Ren’s tastes. Not that he was in the habit of trying to please Ren, but it couldn’t hurt.

Hux scowled as soon as the holo loaded. As expected, there was Ren, still kriffing handsome in the wig and despite his long face and especially sullen demeanor. Baxter offered a pleasant welcome and waited patiently for “Matt” to begin speaking.

Matt fidgeted. He hunched over. He blew his idiotic fake bangs off his forehead and looked like he was drowning in his own discomfort. At long last, he said, “Kylo Ren doesn’t have a lot of experience.”

Hux squinted at the screen.

“And.” Matt glanced to the side. “He isn’t open to counseling, so. He asked me to ask you. About some stuff.”

“Okay.” Baxter nodded. “That’s fine.”

“Jedi are celibate,” Matt rushed out. “They don’t. You know.”

Alone, at his console, Hux’s mouth fell open and he swore, loudly.

“I’ve heard this,” Baxter said. “But never confirmed. Much of what I know of the Force is through rumors.”

“Yeah, well. The Republic, the Outer Rim, you can learn anything. I’ve seen the holos, the—whores you can buy. I know—Kylo Ren knows that sort of stuff. But it’s not like. He told me. He never got around to really, uh, trying it. Them. Whores.”

Baxter’s face went through a series of microexpressions, until she settled on careful concern. “Well, there’s always time. Surely, as Supreme Leader, Kylo Ren will be able to find someone who,” she paused, eyeing Matt speculatively. “He might experiment with. The Order doesn’t forbid sexual contact between its members. Leader Ren is young.”

“Yeah. But.”

“Yes, Matt?”

“How do you. How do you know if someone is interested? In you. Like.” Matt scowled. “Sexually. Or whatever.”

“One might suppose that Kylo Ren could use the Force to discern such a thing.”

“People don’t like that.”

“Like what?” Baxter tilted her head.

“Prying. Sorting through their thoughts. Trying to find out what they desire or what their true feelings are. Makes people uncomfortable. And.” Matt’s scowl deepened to the point where his whole face was involved. “The person Kylo Ren likes. Would know. He’s perceptive. Smart like that.”

“Ah,” said Baxter.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” said Hux, wondering who in the blazes had caught Ren’s eye.

“He. The person. He and Kylo Ren, they have a thing. Actually it’s kind of shitty.” Matt barked a big, awkward laugh that was so entirely _Ren_ that Hux shook his head at the recording.

“Why is that?”

“They almost kissed,” Matt said, breathless, the words bleeding together. “But Ren—he freaked out. Kriffing ruined it, that’s what he said.”

“Almost kissed.” Hux repeated. _“Almost kissed_?” Was Ren talking about him? As though they were inexperienced teenagers, and not men who yearned and desired and struggled through their yearning. And couldn’t Ren simply take whatever he wanted? That had always been his refrain, back when he used to corner Hux and threaten him with all manner of things; once the meditation offers had settled into antipathy, and Ren took to stalking after him to loom into his personal space, a spectral beast of Hux’s own making.

“He could try again,” Baxter suggested.

Matt shook his head. “It’s _complicated_.”

“It always is.”

No, thought Hux. There was no way Ren was speaking of him. They hadn’t nearly kissed; they’d only stood too closely together for a long, sweltering moment. Which meant this was bad at best and damaging at worst. The Supreme Leader couldn’t _date._

He would need to have words with Baxter. Again. A solution began to crystallize in Hux’s mind: Baxter could nudge “Matt” away from any romantic prospects with polite suggestions and gentle prying. Unless Ren was already involved with someone. He turned off the recording with a shudder of revulsion. He would need to meet with Baxter posthaste, nip this in the bud as soon as possible before Ren could embarrass himself further through either self-professed inexperience or his frightful personality. Or _both_. Hux would have to be quite deft about it, too; after all he wouldn’t want Baxter getting the wrong idea about _him_ where Ren was concerned.

“Perhaps we could discuss your therapeutic endeavors over tea this evening?” he sent her via electronic mail, his fingers tripping slightly over the keys.

“Outstanding,” Baxter replied almost immediately.

“My office, 2100,” Hux wrote, giving himself enough time to shower, sup, and get several hours of work done once he was capable of doing so.

It was fruitless.

After the shower, a harrowingly close shave, and too much time spent staring at his datapad and getting nowhere, Hux resigned himself to thoughts of Kylo Ren. He’d felt cursed by Ren from the outset of their co-commandership, and it seemed he would never be free. If only he’d been able to dispatch Ren during his brief window of opportunity! Now wouldn’t _that_ be a useful topic for counseling: man comes face to face with all he desires and cannot act. But—was that what he truly wanted? A life without Kylo Ren. Rallies solely for him. A throne. When had the well of his ambition run dry? The loathsome truth was that it wasn’t dry at all, it was only full up with something far worse than ambition. Ren had always gotten under his skin, but some of that was Snoke’s doing; now he had taken up residence through no fault but Hux’s own.

He was plagued by thoughts of whom Ren might be enamoured with. One of his knights? Apparently this person would know if Ren was engaging in a bit of his sordid mind reading. Or perhaps it was some middling member of the Order, someone Ren thought he could take advantage of and toss away. It wouldn’t do for the Supreme Leader to get himself some kind of reputation. No, if Ren wished to inflict himself on someone then it should be him. There was opportunity here. Hux could taste it.

Baxter arrived promptly at 2100. Hux let her in and poured them both steaming hot cups of tea. He would have to be especially crafty with this matter; Baxter had proven herself capable of seeing through him at times. And there was her nascent Force sensitivity to contend with as well.

“I assume this meeting pertains to Leader Ren, sir?” Baxter asked, once the first sips had been taken and the pleasantries dispatched.

So much for subtlety. Hux’s nose twitched. “Indeed. I have some concerns.”

“Go on.”

“Our dearly departed Leader Snoke was not a young man. In actuality.” Hux frowned. “I am not certain he was a man at all. The fact remains: he was elderly, removed from the daily operations of our regime, and wholly sexless. In many ways, this was an ideal situation for the Order.”

“I can see the value there, yes sir.”

“We were shielded, you see, from potential embarrassments, on certain fronts.”

Baxter hummed.

“Times have changed. Where Snoke was old, Kylo Ren is quite young. He has, shall we say, shown himself to be impulsive, from to time to time. None is more aware of this than I. We share a close, ah, working relationship, which makes me uniquely familiar with Ren’s—Leader Ren’s past behavior. Now.” Hux set his tea down and folded his hands in his lap with a flat smile. “I doubt I need to explain the ways in which our young ruler may find himself in a bit of sticky wicket, were he allowed to express the full extent of his. Impulses. And I’m certain you can see the _value_ in ensuring that he does not. Express them _.”_

“Sir, I.” Baxter inhaled.

“Do speak freely, Captain.” Hux flipped open a lacquered black box on the coffee table and removed a cigarra. He lit it and leaned back against the couch, pleased to have caught Baxter on the back foot. “This is your area of expertise, is it not?”

“Yes, but. I fail to see how I can be of assistance.”

“You arranged this situation, Captain. Encouraged Leader Ren to seek out.” Hux sneered. “Convivial companionship. I’m asking you to un-encourage it.”

“I’m not sure—“

“You’ve made an _impression_. As has the creature Ren now finds himself in thrall to.”

“In thrall? Sir, I must ask, have you watched all of Matt’s sessions with me?”

It was the most flustered Hux had ever heard her sound. He wouldn’t give her the ease of a straight answer. “I’ve seen enough,” he allowed.

Baxter put her tea down with a clang and looked as though she wanted to stand and address him properly. “You must think me naive, sir, to suggest that I’ve been—that Leader Ren’s romantic—”

“ _Un-encourage him_ ,” Hux repeated. “That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir. I will do my best to dissuade him from any unacceptable englements.”

Hux thrilled slightly at her inability to mask the annoyance in her voice. It made him want to draw the meeting out. “Now, tell me of the other one-on-one sessions. I’ve pursued your briefs, but I understand the necessity of careful language.” He took a long drag off his cigarra. So what if Ren hadn’t called on him since their complicated encounter in Ren’s quarters. He wasn’t about to beg for an audience. Waiting would suit him just fine; hunger was his favorite diet, it made all things sweeter.

 

Two weeks later he conceded that starvation could pose a problem.

Ren had been avoiding him; he refused to take Hux’s comms and impromptu visits were met with closed doors and no recourse. He came too close to overriding Ren’s door code on three separate occasions, like a common fiend.

For reasons that eluded him, he hadn’t watched Ren’s subsequent therapy sessions either. Nor had he spoken with Baxter about her success in discouraging Ren from pursuing his crush. She’d messaged him several times, politely inquiring whether he’d like to meet and discuss her progress with the counseling groups and individuals, but he’d declined, coming up with one excuse or another, each more paltry than the next. Baxter hadn’t called him out, though she must have intuited that his interest had waned.

It hadn’t. He was plagued by unslaked curiosity, quelled only by a roiling internal ocean of humiliation. He had miscalculated in making an advance, such as it was. He’d taken Ren’s touch, his burning eyes, his very _words_ , to mean something else entirely, and he’d blundered. It was an abysmal defeat for a tactician.

He was trading electronic mail with an outside contractor during his off-day, comfortable in his dressing gown and happy to be arguing about the price structure for the audio rentals they would require for the event, when his comm buzzed. Hux picked it up, already a shade annoyed at being interrupted, and his gut lurched sickeningly. A message from Kylo Ren, the first in weeks. Two simple words.

 **1123: REN >>** cancel it

Hux frowned. His body flooded with such a surge of adrenaline that his hands began to tremble. He inhaled slowly through his nostrils several times, felt his chest contract and expand and tried to stave off rising nausea. Cancel it? _Cancel it_? Carefully, as though it were a live explosive, Hux placed his comm in his console drawer and shut it away. He knew, intellectually, that sending off a series of livid replies would be dastardly, as effective as trying to calm a rathtar with soothing music. He knew, intellectually, that Kylo Ren was still a volatile child, incapable of understanding the finer points of rule.

None of this understanding stopped Hux from picking up the tumbler of half-drunk tea on his desk and hurling it at the far wall. It made a jarring clang when it connected with the transparisteel.

It was barely noon, but Hux poured himself a large measure of good Corellian brandy. What had happened? Ren was given to whims, that was his nature, but what had changed his mind so entirely? And what gave him the utter _gall_ to clue Hux in so rudely, as though Hux were nothing more than a competent protocol droid programmed to obey Ren’s every wish?

Sith hells, was that what he’d become?

He was three large gulps into his brandy when it occurred to him that this was somehow Baxter’s fault. It had to be. Ren had been— _sharing_ things with her. More things. His anxieties, or what have you. She must have had a hand in this. That minx, that traitor. She was undermining his authority, swaying the Supreme Leader in stars only knew what ways. He downed the rest of his drink. He was the only one who should have any sphere of influence when it came to Ren, that was clear now. This entire therapeutic farce was proving to be ruinous.

Well, Hux would put an end to it all shortly. Just as soon as he knew exactly what kind of nonsense Baxter was filling Ren’s head with. He poured himself another drink and, feeling the artificial calm of alcohol spreading through his blood stream, he got his comm out of the drawer and sent back a message of his own.

 **11:30 HUX >> **Absolutely not.

It felt _good._ He had been under someone’s thumb in one way or another for his entire life. That stopped with Ren. Hux arranged himself on his sofa, and pulled up a news publication on his data pad. He steadied his breathing through distraction, cleared his thoughts, and took a final sip of brandy with vicious satisfaction just as a fist began pounding on his door. Then the door screeched as it was wrenched open by unconventional means. Hux set his glass down on the coffee table.

Ren stalked towards him, his shoulders rounded forward, his stance suspiciously similar to his fighting one. He was dressed in his customary black doublet, the belt absent, and his hair looked hastily combed into place. He jabbed a finger at Hux.

“You answer to me,” he said. “I thought I’d made that abundantly clear.”

“Supreme Leader, how good to see you,” Hux drawled, full of false nonchalance, and half expecting to be choked out on the spot. “Won’t you join me?”

Ren stopped at the edge of Hux’s sitting area, held in place by some imagined barrier. He looked pulled taut, a string begging to be plucked.

“Explain yourself, General.”

“You bid me do something and I have done it. I won’t have you ruining good work based on petty whims alone.” Hux’s voice pitched low.

“Oh, _I’m_ the petty one.” Ren’s mouth split into a cruel grin. “That’s rich, coming from you. Maybe I wanted to ruin your fun. Maybe you deserve a little _ruining_.”

“Deserve a little—” Heat crawled up Hux’s neck. He shifted in place.

“People make you.” Ren stopped and moved closer, looming over Hux. “You think they like you. For your parts. But then—”

“What?”

“They don’t. They lead you on.”

“Are you suggesting.” Hux frowned. “That I’ve led you on?”

“Yes. I am.”

“Ren,” Hux sighed. He had aged these past five years. “I haven’t a sarlac’s tooth what you’re talking about.”

“She told Matt!” Ren shouted. “That you didn’t want any part of this. Any part of me.”

“Who told whom what?”

“Els Baxter. Counselor Baxter. The blonde.”

“ _What_?”

Ren reached out slightly and Hux found himself pinned to the couch, invisible pressure on his chest keeping him immobile. He struggled briefly and Ren made a strange huffing sound. “I’ve tried to be good. To leave you alone.”

The powerful weight on Hux increased. He could almost feel hands on him, Ren’s hands, holding him down. His quarters were perpetually dim, and Ren’s eyes had taken on a dangerous glint in the half-light.

“But I’ve told you before, I can take whatever I want. And there’s no one to stop me now. No Snoke. No aging Jedi. I don’t like. Being denied.”

The realization rushed through Hux with the force of a hyperspace jump. “You idiot boy. Let me up and you can have it.”

The pressure vanished, but was quickly replaced by Ren’s massive form, his arms bracketing Hux as Hux attempted to straighten his body and regain some control of his own form. Ren’s hands landed on the back of the couch, his hips between Hux’s thighs. His mess of hair blocked out the light and all Hux could see was his face, all he could hear was Ren’s frantic breathing, his eyes drawn to Ren’s parted mouth, his full lips nearly too much to bear this close, and Hux’s nostrils filled with the overwhelming scent of Ren’s skin, the subtle cologne he wore like a fragile indulgence.

The air seemed to pulse around them. Hux shoved his fingers into Kylo Ren’s hair and dragged their mouths together in a searing, sloppy kiss.

“I’ve wanted you,” Ren told him, smearing it against his lips. He was a thoroughly inelegant kisser. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Forgive me if that wasn’t immediately apparent.”

“You’re the idiot,” Ren said, intractable and petulant to the last. “You’ve been rebuffing me for years. I should have you court martialed for being such a—a tease. Is this a robe?” He ground down on Hux, and it brought the hot, hard brand of his cock into contact with Hux’s ass, the sensitive underside of his cock and perineum.

“What of it?” To Hux’s dismay it sounded more like a gasp than a rebuke.

“Take it off.” Ren was already pulling it down Hux’s shoulders. Attempting to manhandle him into nakedness. His hands appeared to be everywhere at once. His kisses were starving. The thought came to Hux: they should have done this sooner, and immediately on its heels: Snoke would have never permitted it. “He would have killed you,” Ren said against his throat, sucking at him between words, hard enough to bruise. “One of his stupid red guards would have run you through.”

Hux shivered, feeling the truth of it. Feeling Ren’s mouth move, the drag of his tongue.

“Not me though. I intend to keep you. Close.” He grabbed for Hux’s ass, took a big handful of it and somehow maneuvered Hux into his lap, splitting Hux’s thighs open and parting his robe in the process. “So slender,” Ren muttered. “Do you even eat?”

“I eat.”

“Not enough. You dine with me now.”

Hux felt his face flush, he lowered his eyes to avoid the look of hunger on Ren’s face. As though he intended to eat Hux instead. “Supreme Leader, I—“

“Enough of that. Not here.”

“As you say.”

Ren growled. “Don’t hide from me. Don’t pretend you’re not vicious and starving for it.”

“For what?”

“Power. And this.” He rutted up against Hux.

“Do you intend to fuck me with your trousers on?”

“I—I’m not an amateur.”

Hux laughed before he could stop himself. Charmed and slightly intoxicated. “Oh Ren, let me help you.” He made short work of Ren’s fly and his underwear, thrilled at the secret knowledge that he would be the first person to conquer this particular summit. Ren resumed kissing him, licking his laughter out of his mouth, quick to learn that Hux was susceptible to a gentle bite and a deeply plundering tongue. He felt pleasantly nauseous, his stomach uneasy and his blood electric. He could happily finish them both off like this, grinding down on Ren’s cock like a hasty cadet with too little time and too many hormones.

“You’ll have to tell me about that, someday,” Ren said. He nipped at Hux’s ear. “Your slutty academy days. I could sense it when I met you. Your lusty youth. Just under the surface of that unmoved exterior. I wanted to take you apart.”

“You wanted to meditate with me.” Hux reached back and grabbed the slick he kept in the same box as his cigarras. His vice box, as he thought of it. There was a shapely dildo there too.

“Fuck.” Ren had clearly noticed it, peering over Hux’s shoulder. “Fuck, I wanna. Let me—“

“All in due time.” Hux allowed himself a smirk. He petted Ren’s cock with an open palm. “This first, Supreme Leader.”

“It’s good. When you say it like that.”

“ _Supreme Leader,_ ” Hux purred, finding he liked it too. “I’m going to sit on your cock.”

Ren groaned, his eyes slipped shut, and he dropped his head back onto the couch as though watching would be too much for him. Hux slicked up Ren’s erection and then himself, dipped one dripping finger inside just to be sure he could take it. Then a second because he wanted to, and he wanted Ren to see.

“Look,” he said, working his fingers in tight little circles, showing off. He took Ren’s wrist in his other hand and drew it behind his body; placed Ren’s hand over the one currently fucking his own ass. “So you know for next time.”

“Next time,” Ren said. “Only I get to touch you, in there. Your little ass. I want to feel you.”

He squeezed Hux’s hips and lifted him up, positioning himself on instinct. It seemed he was a natural. How shockingly pleasant, Hux thought, as Ren’s cockhead nudged against his fingers and then his wet, ready opening. It was a thicker intrusion than he’d anticipated. He hadn’t truly anticipated this at all, not after his subtle hint had failed so wildly. He should have been more forceful. Nothing between them could ever be short of bombastic; he should have known better.

Hux moaned as Ren breached him, too caught up to care how he sounded. He let Ren pull him down onto his cock and revelled at the perfect sting and stretch of it. He clutched involuntarily at Ren’s cock and his shoulders, fingers finding purchase on the muscles of his back.

“Kriff,” Ren grunted. Then again. Then, “you’re so tight. Taking it all. Keeping your word.”

“My word is my bond,” Hux said. Bouncing a little once he was fully seated, up and down, up and down, getting a feel for it, while Ren went slightly cross-eyed. “And it’s been—a while.”

“Good.”

Hux thought of Ren’s confession to Baxter, unbidden and foolish, and immediately felt a tendril of the Force lick at his mind. Ren’s huge hand snapped to the back of his neck and gripped him there, tugged at his hair, and forced his body to reflexively clench up. He cried out.

“I knew you were a sneak. A sneak and a—slut.”

“Ren, I—“

“No, it’s good.” His fist relaxed and he combed through Hux’s hair as though soothing a pet. “You’re obsessed with me. I like it. You _should_ be obsessed with your Supreme Leader. Snoke never got to do this. He never got to use you.” Ren’s fingers tightened again, and he fucked up into Hux so hard that Hux saw stars. Whole galaxies obstructing his vision while Ren pounded five years of frustration and too much history into him.

“Touch yourself, sneak,” Ren said. “Show me how you make yourself come.”

“Did you—learn all your lines from holos?” Hux bit out, obeying him anyway.

“You like it.”

“ _Stars_ , I kriffing do. You’re a filthy— _ah_ , desperate boy. Do it harder.”

“As the General wishes,” Ren said, and did.

Hux felt his release spiraling closer, and closer still as Ren managed to graze his prostate with each deep, punishing thrust. He held on for dear life, his thighs shaking from the effort as he stroked himself toward orgasm. Ren kept swearing like some kind of dirty moon jockey, in between plundering kisses that left them both gasping.

“Ren, Ren, Ren,” Hux panted, unable to stay his tongue.

“I’m gonna fuck you inside out,” Ren said, and the sheer violent absurdity of it had Hux coming over his own fist, striping Ren’s grey doublet in an abundance of milky-white.

“Sith hells,” Ren swore. “Shit.” He chased his own orgasm with a deep groan before he froze in place, his fingers digging in to Hux’s skin. Hux felt him come apart, the pulse of his cock as Ren filled him, filled anyone, for the first time.

For a tender moment they stayed like that, Hux still speared open where they were joined, his body spasming in the aftermath. He felt Ren’s spend slip from him with each minute twitch. Ren’s face was pressed into his neck, breath heavy and humid. Hux’s hands felt weak from clinging desperately to him. The air system hummed in the background. Hux’s comm chimed and went unanswered. They had managed to upend both his brandy and the box of cigarras. Ren licked his throat in a slow drift back to consciousness. He pulled back and gave Hux a serious look.

“How long until we can do it again?” He asked.

As it turned out, they could do it again shortly thereafter. Hux soon found himself on his hands and knees, Ren’s face buried in his ass, his tongue put to good use for once.

“It’s a shame you’re so new to this,” Hux said, once he regained the power of speech. “A terrible waste of enthusiasm.”

“To your benefit,” Ren replied. He wiped his swollen lips with the back of his hand as Hux watched in reviled fascination.

 

They continued on in this fashion for the following weeks, which suited Hux fine, and, without letting Ren know, he completed the preparations for the rally. Ren continued his therapy sessions, and learned to reduce Hux to tears with his fingers and mouth alone during entirely different sessions. He was an eager student. Hux spent his days in a haze of sharp contrasts: strict command and indolent time with the Supreme Leader. Eventually Ren even began to appear on the bridge again, except now he was content to stand behind Hux’s back and glower at anyone who came too close. This suited Hux too, and he assumed that getting Ren to actually _do his job_ instead of hide in his quarters was Baxter’s work.

It was nice, in a way, getting to lead with Ren just beside him. He liked the way their troops looked at Ren, with respect and terrified awe. Especially after the tribunals were finished and some of the younger ones found themselves with promotions handed down from the Supreme Leader himself. Gone were the days of aged mystery ruling the Order. Their new regime was marked by youthful fury. And each time a simpering, red-faced lieutenant so much as gazed in Ren’s direction, Hux had the added thrill of being able to think, “Mine.”

Ren, to his credit, found possessiveness wildly erotic. 

“Fine,” Hux conceded one morning as he and Ren lay together, sweaty, still entwined, and frankly in a too-intimate configuration (Ren was clingy in the aftermath). “I can see the benefits. Of counseling. Things seem calmer now. A different kind of peace for our war at home.”

Kylo Ren’s expression was at once too open and too earnest. Hux didn’t like it. “You know,” he said. He stroked Hux’s tear-stained cheek. “It couldn’t hurt for you to talk to someone.”

“Duly noted, but I find our assignations perfectly adequate therapy.”

Ren snorted, his big, sharp teeth on display. Stars, Hux wanted to devour him. Now _that_ would be therapeutic. “You can’t just,” Ren paused. “What was it you said the other night? Fuck the pain away?”

“I said no such thing.”

“You did. I remember. It was like—“ he pitched his voice high and nasal and affected a terrible facsimile of Hux’s own bastardized Imperial accent—“‘Please, Supreme Leader, fuck me—fuck me until it doesn’t hurt any longer. Fuck it out of me.’”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hux removed himself from Ren’s embrace. He knew exactly what he was talking about. It was easy to lose control of your mouth when you were being taken from behind with a savant’s ability.

“I know you haven’t done as I asked,” Ren said.

“What?” Hux watched him carefully, still in his dressing gown as he began preparing for his watch. And he had the daily announcements to give which Ren delighted in attempting to distract him from.

“Your little rally.” Ren seated himself entirely nude at Hux’s console. He was a ridiculous specimen, still sweat dappled from their waking activities. His hair was a mess, his neck marked from Hux’s own admiring teeth. “Your theatrics.”

“Ah.”

“Ah,” Ren repeated. He favored Hux with a wolfish look and pawed at him when Hux skirted closer to his side.

“I still think it’s important,” Hux said. “You—should be seen, Ren. Be _known.”_

“Postpone it, then. If you’re so intent on me making an appearance.” He tugged Hux into his lap. “The Supreme Leader demands it. He requires your assistance with a very large problem on the scheduled day.”

He meant his dick. Hux hated him. “What of my speech?”

“Give it now.”

“ _What_?” Hux’s voice ticked up into its higher register.

“Here.” Before he could protest, Ren punched the shipwide intercom button and thrust Hux’s console comm into his hand. “Go on.”

For a moment Hux stared at him, wide-eyed and stricken by the dead air. Ren nuzzled at him, adjusted Hux in his lap so that Hux could feel his cock against his ass, hard from his proximity alone. Stars, it made Hux feel desired, sordid and amused. How had it come to this, he wondered, and felt suddenly that it was always meant to.

“Fine,” he mouthed and began to speak. It was the same speech he’d written for the rally: a searing indictment of the Rebels and their beloved Republic, a celebration of the First Order and its successes, and a resounding endorsement of Ren himself, which made Ren smile with his teeth against Hux’s neck.

Kylo Ren’s hand strayed up under his robe, but Hux’s voice rang out clear and true. He would not be distracted; he would prevail, as he always had. With rising passion, he cried, “Know this: we stand united against a common enemy. Strength comes from the Order. Stability comes from the Order. And through the Order, will you find solidarity. You are the final defense before maximum danger, the bulwark against galactic chaos. Be proud of your resilience, be proud of your accomplishments. Do not falter in your beliefs and you will not fail.

All hail the glory of the First Order. All hail the Supreme Leader.”

 

**Epilogue:**

Major Els Baxter was having a perfectly ordinary day. The promotion had been a surprise, as had Grand Marshal Hux’s overall praise of her work. But she wasn’t the sort of person who passed opportunity by, and if that meant hearing about Leader Ren’s sex life with a difficult, unnamed individual who insisted on brushing his teeth before sexual congress, then she wouldn’t make assumptions.

Like Hux, she prided herself on discretion.

She was sorting through her patient progress reports when a commotion in the waiting room drew her attention. She could hear poor Ensign Garbi putting up quite the fight with a would-be interruption. It was laudable behavior and she was glad to have spoken to him about the protocol for unannounced visitors, but she didn’t need her latent Force sensitivity to know who was about to darken her doorway.

The sound of Garbi being cut off mid-sentence with a loud and helpless gurgle was proof enough. And when he began to breathlessly apologize after a few seconds, Baxter sighed in relief.

The door _whooshed_ open and she got to her feet. “Sirs.”

Hux looked murderous, but the Supreme Leader spoke first, his voice a growl. He pointed at Hux.

“Can you _please_ tell the Grand Marshal that folding your socks isn’t a requirement for a romantic relationship?”

“Could you tell Leader Ren that rules are imperative in _any_ relationship?”

Baxter’s eyes widened, her throat worked. “Who would like a cup of tea,” she asked.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow ya girl [on tumblr](http://reserve.tumblr.com) for more kylux garbage.
> 
> I listened to the new Fall Out Boy album, [Mania](https://genius.com/albums/Fall-out-boy/M-a-n-i-a), and specifically their song [The Last of the Real Ones](https://genius.com/Fall-out-boy-the-last-of-the-real-ones-lyrics), while writing this fic. As well as the wonderful ["Nuclear"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MzjnrkLexsg) by Lost Years, which inspired Hux's speech. In case you were curious.
> 
> Apologies to JFK.


End file.
